


Boba kriffing Fett and his lizard guardian

by Bossk



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Beginnings of father-son relationship, Boba is nervous and insecure kid, Boba's complex about being a clone, Boba's fear of abandonment, Bossk is also feral, Bossk is infamous, Bossk is kinda silly, Bossk is soft, Dismemberment, First day of school vibes, Gen, Prison, Trandoshans (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bossk/pseuds/Bossk
Summary: Boba and Bossk have just been sent to prison together after their failed attempts to assassinate Mace Windu. Boba is more lost and confused than ever, but Bossk is here to protect and guide him.
Relationships: Bossk & Boba Fett
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Boba kriffing Fett and his lizard guardian

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after Season 2 finale "Lethal Trackdown." Prison aesthetic and Boba and Bossk's dynamic heavily inspired by Season 4 episode "Deception."

“Lunch hour’s almost up, better get it quick, kid,” the guard said in the same voice as Boba’s father as he shoved the 11-year-old into the cafeteria. Boba looked around at the vast room, the tables full of adult criminals, thieves, hunters, murderers of every shape and species. 

This wasn’t where he belonged. He was a _child_ —a guilty one, yes, he admitted—but a child nonetheless. There had to be a better place for him than full-blown prison. But even Mace Windu, the Jedi Master who claimed to be so noble and honorable, had no qualms with sending this child off to be locked up with the most dangerous people in the galaxy. 

Boba turned around to find the guard, find some sort of comfort with the man with the same face as his father, as _himself_ , but the guard had already left. Because everyone always left Boba. 

Jango, his father who was murdered in front of him. Taun We, the closest thing he had to a mother growing up—but when he contacted her after Geonosis, she begged him to return to Kamino only so he could be conscripted into the clone army, where she said he belonged. She and the rest of the Kaminoans had never viewed Boba or the rest of the clones as anything more than property, than killing machines, Boba had realized at the time. And then Aurra, who had left him in the bar on Florrum and then died when _Slave I_ crashed and exploded—at least, that’s what the Jedi told him. 

Still unable to summon the courage to walk any further into the cafeteria, Boba nervously caressed his head. It didn’t feel like his own head anymore, after they had trimmed and shaved off his dark brown locks just moments earlier. It wasn’t prison regulation, they said. Not fit for a clone, they said. 

_Well, why the kriff do you think I grew it like that_ , Boba thought. He wasn’t like the other clones, he was _never_ going to be like them, he was his own person with his own hair. And now only a stubble was left. A stubble of his individuality. And he was left stroking it, an 11-year-old boy frozen at the entrance to the prison cafeteria because _everyone_ had left him, everyone _always_ left him, because there was no place in the galaxy for a criminal clone boy during the Clone Wars. 

All this thinking hadn’t made Boba feel any better, but he knew lunch time was going to end soon and he _had_ to move already. He was a clone, but unlike the rest of them he was a Fett, too, and he was going to move and he was going to survive because that’s what Fetts did. 

That’s what Jango would have told him. 

Boba took a deep breath and started towards the lunch tables when he heard a deep, growling, familiar voice. 

“Boba!” 

He turned around and saw a Trandoshan walking towards him, tall and with greenish-yellow scales and orange eyes. He had been working with Boba and Aurra for over a month on their plan to assassinate Mace, and he was the only one in their team who had survived to be thrown in jail with Boba. 

“Oh, hey Bossk,” Boba said, relieved to see a friendly face for once. Bossk had always been nice to him—never willing to defend him when Aurra was being cruel, but occasionally showing a kind gesture.

Bossk examined his head and hissed. “They cut off your hair, huh?”

Boba nodded. “They said it was prison regulation. I liked it long, though.” Boba’s eyes immediately fell to the floor and his face burned. That was such a stupid thing to say. He was supposed to be tough, especially in a place like this. He wasn’t supposed to care about silly things like the length of his hair. It made him sound like such a child, and Bossk wouldn’t want to hang out with a child.

“Me too,” Bossk said after a moment of thinking. Boba’s face lit up as he looked up at the lizard. “It suited you. Distinguished you from the clones,” Bossk added. Boba smiled a little. Bossk sheepishly ran his claw over the ridges on his head. “I never understood the point of hair, anyway. It grows back, right?”

Boba chuckled until he noticed Bossk’s confused look and realized his question was absolutely serious. “Uh, yeah, it grows back over time.”

“But your limbs don’t?”

This time Boba knew to resist the urge to laugh. “No, not our limbs. I don’t think many species besides Trandoshans can do that.”

Bossk shook his head and scoffed. “Human biology never made sense to me. I never understood why they chose your species to make the clone army and not Trandoshans.” Bossk pointed to himself with one clawed finger and smiled with pride. “ _We’re_ natural predators. A Trandoshan clone army would win the war a lot sooner, I can tell you that.”

Boba laughed again. He had rarely had conversations this long with Bossk. He was such a professional bounty hunter that Boba often forgot how funny he could be, not necessarily in an intentional way, but just as a big cannibalistic lizard who didn’t always understand other species. 

Boba remembered his first day with Bossk and Aurra, when Aurra sent Bossk off to a market to get Boba something to eat and Bossk came back with a freshly-killed Womp rat. He presented it to Boba with a big pointy grin, as if he had just fetched a wonderful meal. Aurra was angry and called him a stupid lizard, but Boba just thought it was funny. 

“Hey, I’m sitting over there with a few old associates,” Bossk said, pointing his claw at a table nearby. “Lunch is gonna be over soon, I think, but see if there’s any food left and then come and join us.” 

Boba smiled and nodded and headed towards the food dispenser. There was barely a line anymore, just a single person ahead of him—another Trandoshan, this one with grayish-white scales, a little taller than Bossk. Boba grabbed a tray and waited as the Trandoshan waved his own tray under the dispenser. A trickle of the greenish goop they called food trickled out, and then the machine made a low beep. 

“ _Blast_ it, it’s all out,” the Trandoshan growled and whacked the machine. He turned to Boba and looked him up and down, only just now realizing how small he was. “Aren’t you a little young for a prisoner?” he snarled. 

Boba’s brow furrowed. “I-I guess so, but they stuck me in here anyway.”

The Trandoshan grinned and dropped his tray. “I’m still _hungry_ ,” he hissed as he stepped forward, “and my mother always told me human children tasted the best.” Boba backed up and tightened his grip on his tray, holding it up as a weapon—or maybe a shield, he hadn’t quite decided yet. 

The Trandoshan laughed and bared his claws. “That’s not going to save you.” He raised a claw to strike and Boba instinctively raised his tray to block it, but a voice interrupted them.

“Hey!”

The Trandoshan turned just in time for a green, scaly fist to hit him in the face. He fell to the ground but quickly recovered, snarling up at his assailant with fury, only for his face to melt into shock and fear when he got a good look at him. 

“Y-you’re _Bossk_.”

He began to inch back on all fours as Bossk approached, not done with the fight just yet. “W-wait, wait a second,” the Trandoshan said, but Bossk pounced on him. Boba had never seen Bossk this animalistic, ruthlessly clawing at his prey as the other Trandoshan tried to push him off and escape. He kicked Bossk to keep him at bay and then tried to scramble to his feet to run away, but Bossk lunged at his legs and dragged him back.

At this point, their fight had drawn a crowd. Nearly the whole cafeteria was watching as Bossk hissed and sank his teeth into the other Trandoshan’s arm right below his shoulder. Boba winced at the sound of cracking scales and tearing flesh, but most of the other prisoners whooped and hollered. The other Trandoshan shrieked and screamed for help, trying to push Bossk off, but Bossk was intent on making a lesson of him.

Finally, there was a horrible tearing sound and the Trandoshan screamed louder than ever. Boba didn’t realize exactly what happened until Bossk stood up, still holding the Trandoshan’s arm in his mouth from where he had torn it completely off with his teeth. He spat it into his hand and turned to the crowd. The other Trandoshan whimpered and crawled away, massaging his new stump from where green blood was streaming and where new flesh would be growing soon.

Bossk held up the dismembered arm like a trophy, blood still dripping from his maw. “The kid and I are new here,” he yelled. “I’m Bossk. You’ve probably heard of me. And this,” he pointed at Boba, “is Boba _kriffing_ Fett. Jango’s son.”

Boba beamed with pride as the other prisoners looked at him with wide eyes, murmuring to each other. Yeah, he really was Boba _kriffing_ Fett, and now everyone knew it.

“You got a problem with Boba, you got a problem with me,” Bossk shouted to the crowd, pointing at himself with the dismembered arm. “Mess with him, and I tear off your kriffing limb. Regardless of whether it grows back,” he said as he grinned at his still-bleeding victim.

“ _Alright, break it up, lunch is over!_ ” guards shouted as they broke through the crowd. Bossk shrugged and raised his arms in surrender as they surrounded him, while others tended to the wounded Trandoshan. 

“It’s always Trandoshans,” Boba heard one guard mutter to another as they looked at the mess.

Bossk explained to the guards that he was saving Boba’s life and they quickly pulled up security footage to confirm it. “You’re lucky it’s your first day,” the head guard said. “Another incident like this and it’s a week in solitary.” Bossk rolled his eyes as they let him go. 

The crowd had dispersed but Boba was sitting at a table nearby, waiting for him. To his surprise, Bossk greeted him with a friendly claw on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, thanks to you. You really didn’t have to do all that, you know. I can take care of myself.”

Bossk chuckled and shook his head. “No, you can’t. Not in a place like this.” Boba’s eyes fell to the floor again. “But that’s okay, I’ll teach you. Now let’s back to our cells before I get in any more trouble today.” Boba smiled at him and followed him out of the cafeteria. 

“Oh and by the way,” Bossk said, handing him the dismembered arm that he had somehow gotten away with keeping. “This is yours. In Trandoshan culture, when we take a trophy in defense of someone else, we give it to them.”

“Uh, thanks,” Boba said uneasily as he took the scaly piece of flesh in both his hands. It was cold and gross and dripping green blood all over his uniform, but he knew he needed to accept it out of respect. 

“You can eat it if you want, since you didn’t get any lunch. I won’t get offended,” Bossk said with an eager grin. 

“Oh, um, thanks, maybe I’ll have it later,” Boba said, although he would rather stay hungry until dinner than take a single bite of the rotting severed limb. 

As they returned to their cells, Bossk pondered what he hadn’t told Boba—that this tradition was specifically for Trandoshan parents when protecting their children. On the surface, it didn’t make sense to give his trophy to Boba, who already had a father, who was a different species and couldn’t possibly ever be considered Bossk’s son— _right?_ —but somehow this still felt like the right thing for Bossk to do.

They were in a scary place with lots of tough, scary people. It was going to be hard, maybe more than even Bossk could handle. But beneath the fear and anxiety over what was to come, Boba was feeling safe. The kind of safety he had never exactly felt with Aurra, but always with Jango. Like it was just the two of them against the galaxy, and as long as they had each other’s backs, they’d be okay.

Everyone always left Boba. But Bossk hadn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like dropping hints I love Bossk. 
> 
> I love Bossk.


End file.
